What Zia Didn't Tell
by AzureOtter
Summary: There were some things Zia did not tell Carter in that shrine in "The Red Pyramid". WARNING: Contains some serious and adult themes.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi! Look, I know I have other stories I need to update. I promise, I ****_will c_****ontinue them soon. Like, this week. But this idea just struck me as I was reading this book called ****_Sold _****by Patricia McMormick, and I had to write it down.**

**Warning: This story deals with heavy subjects such as prostitution. There is nothing really explicit in this (If there was it would be rated M, and I don't write M) but if you are uncomfortable with such heavy subjects as this, don't read. I personally believe that us teenagers need to be aware of this evil in the world, but I would not recommend this to anyone under the age of twelve. If you like 'Les Miserables', however, I think you can definitely read this. 'Les Mis' includes the subject of prostitution, for those who don't know. But it is the most amazingfantasticwonderfulbeautifulheart-wrenchingt ear-jerkingawesomecoolamazing story in the world. Ahem. Sorry for my rant. I have been known to occasionally break into songs from the musical. "I dreamed a dream in time gone by..." Okay, I'll stop. **

**Also, i'm going to change things around a bit. I'm going to spoil things if I tell you what I'm changing a bit, so you'll have to wait a few chapters to see.**

**I don't own TKC. **

A blind person would never be able to guess that Zia Rashid was a little girl. By the age of six, she could cook, milk a cow, use a butcher's knife, and nail a board to the wall. She longed to help her father out in the fields, even though she wasn't allowed to. She stayed inside and helped her mother with household chores, such as cooking and sewing.

"Mama," she said one day, "why do the men get to do all the important work?"

"Zia, you should know better than to say such a thing," her mother chided. "Us women work hard, too."

"But how is staying inside all day as important as building, farming, trading, and earning money and supplies?" Zia had demanded.

"Why, it is very important. Without women doing what they do, who would sew the family's clothes? Who would cook the men's meals, so when they returned from the fields they'd have something to eat? Who would make sure the house was tidy? Who would sing the children to sleep at night? Also, who would help with the financial business, such as taxes? But, Zia, don't get the idea that women are servants to their husbands. No, that is not at all true. We are independent creatures, who can take care of ourselves _without _the help of men. We could work in the fields if we had to."

"Then why don't we?" Zia demanded.

"Because our job inside the house is equally important. One day, Zia, you will understand. You should be glad you have the life you do. There are many women in the world who have it much worse."

"Like who?" the six-year-old asked, with her big, innocent brown eyes turned up towards her mother.

A shadow crossed Aisha Rashid's light brown face. She looked troubled, but all she did was pat her daughter's head and say, "You will learn when you're older."

"That's what you always say," the girl muttered.

* * *

At the age of eight, Zia had grown to be a beautiful young girl. When she walked down the street to school or to the market place, people would turn their heads to comment on how "they had never seen such a fine-looking young girl in their life".

One day, Zia overheard a neighbor remark to Aisha, "You're Zia is a true beauty. And so responsible, too. I cannot imagine how she will look when she is more adult. A radiant sun to mend the cloudy eyes, if she can even manage to get more beautiful. She will make a wonderful wife one day."

After hearing this, Zia ran upstairs to look at herself in the dusty mirror. She turned to the side, and then to the other side. She got very close to the mirror and examined her face. Her lips were quite full, yes, and her amber eyes lit up her entire face. Her long eyelashes created a scene of modesty. And with her finely shaped facial features and slim figure, which would no doubt be gorgeous when she matured a bit, she was a joy too look at.

Of course Zia did not register any of this. She saw nothing out of the ordinary. She was a bit on the bony side, it was true. There were times when her father came back with nothing to eat. (Luckily, that hadn't happened much lately, as the crops were good and the water was plenty.) But she didn't see anything mind-blowing in that old mirror.

At dinner that night, Zia picked at her food.

"Zia, dear," said her mother, "is something the matter?"

"Mama," she said, "am I pretty?"

Mama threw back her head and laughed. "Zia, my girl, you are too young to worry about such things. But since you ask...You are the most beautiful girl I know."

Zia didn't know what to say to that.

**I'll try and update soon.**

**Reviews are love. **

**Thanks for reading,**

**AzureOtter **


	2. The Slums

**I don't own TKC. **

****The following day, Zia awoke as happy as the occasional bird that flew past her window, singing as it flew through the air, as light and beautiful as could be. Now that Zia knew she was pretty, she had one less thing to worry about. But the real reason she was happy, was because tomorrow she would be turning nine.

"Salaam," Zia's fourteen-year-old brother, Aali, said when she came across him. "You look happy."

"I am," said Zia excitedly. "I cannot wait for tomorrow."

Aali performed an expression of mock surprise. "Oh, and what is tomorrow? Oh, of course! Your birthday! How _could_ I have forgotten? You've only mentioned it about fourteen hundred times."

Zia laughed and ran past him to walk to school.

Aisha caught her daughter at the door. "Zia," she said nervously, "could you run to the market and give this note to your father?"

"Of course, Mama," Zia said with surprise. "But school starts in less than fifteen minutes. I'll be late-"

"No, you won't. I want you to take the short way, through the slums."

Zia gaped at her mother. "Mama, you forbid me to go anywhere near there! Remember? It really doesn't matter if I'm a little late for school, you know."

"Yes, it does, Zia. I need you to get that letter to your father before it's too late."

"Why?"

"Ask no questions, Child!" The girl was shocked by the fear in her mother's voice. "Just please hurry! And be careful." She hugged her daughter. As Zia ran out the door, with the letter in her hand, Aisha called after her, "Remember, keep your head bowed down low! Don't speak to anyone! Just get that note to your father!"

* * *

Zia pinched her nose as she approached the slums. The smell of unwashed bodies was quite nasty. Her village was a small one, and nearly everyone was poor, but the slums, right on the border of Al Hamarah-Makan and another neighboring village, were the home of the poorest, most wretched people of both towns. Zia kept her head down, but out of the corners of her eyes she noted small children hugging their empty stomachs, drunken adults asleep on staircases, etc. Occasionally someone would jump out at her to beg for money or food, but Zia just walked faster, even though her young heart wanted to melt.

A man nearby pushed a woman against a wall. The woman cried out. Her cheeks were painted red, and her eyes were lined with too much black ink. "Oh, deal with it," another woman called. "You must get used to the business." Zia wondered what sort of business this was; but she didn't wait to find out.

Though it had only been eight minutes or so, it seemed like she had been walking for hours when she stepped into the bustling marketplace.

"Zia," Abdullah, a chef and a friend of Zia's family, called out. "How are you, my child, who is about to turn nine? Happy early birthday!"

Zia approached him anxiously. "Thank you. I'm alright, Abdullah. I just need to find my father."

"He's over at the shoemakers," Abdullah said with a worried face. "I think he wants to purchase you children new shoes. Why?"

"I need to deliver this letter to him. Would you do it, please? It's very important."

"Why, of course," Abdullah said. "Zia, is there something troubling you?"

Zia feigned a smile. "No, not at all."

But that was a lie. She wanted to stay here, in this crowded, happy marketplace, with the kind vendors shouting out prices, and the smell of fresh food, and the people chatting happily in the street, or buying their children a treat. She secretly dreaded going back to the slums, back to that deep, dark, never-ending world of horror, where children cried and starved and men pushed women up against walls to do things no eight-year-old should know about.

In the last ten minutes, Zia had experienced what she thought were the horrors of the world.

What her sweet, innocent, eight-year-old mind didn't know, was that that was only half of it.

**The next chapter will be the destruction of the village. Can anyone guess ahead at what the note was? **

**Please review!**

**P.S. I'm going to start having a "question of the day". Today's question is: What is your favorite book, other than Rick Riordan's? **


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey! This is kind of a short chapter, but I hope you like it! All rights belong to Rick Riordan.**

That night, Zia's father was all aglow when he came back from work. "Look what I brought!" he cried, carefully setting a wrapped package on the table.

The children stared at each other. A package, especially one so nicely wrapped, was a rare occurrence in the Rashid household.

"Papa," said Zia uncertainly, "What is in that package?"

"Oh, you'll see," he said. "After dinner. I have presents for you all in my bag here."

Zia's mother, Aisha, walked into the room, humming. But she stopped upon seeing the package, her eyes full of fear. "Abdul," she said, her voice trembling, "where did you get that?"

"This? It's my most precious archaeological find! I had it wrapped; it cost money, but I wanted it to be a surprise when I unveil it."

"Abdul!" Aisha hissed. She grabbed his arm and pulled him away. Zia strained her ears to hear.

"Abdul, did you get the letter?"

"Letter? From whom?"

"Zia, of course!" **  
**

"Zia gave me a letter?"

"Well, she was told to. Zia!"

"Yes, Mama?" Zia stepped forward, pretending she hadn't been listening.

"Did you or did you not give your father that letter?"

"I-Well, I-"

Aisha grabbed her daughter by the collar. "Answer me, child!"

Zia gasped. Never before had she been scared of her mother. "I gave it to Abdullah, Mama. He said he would give it to Papa."

Aisha cursed. "He probably forgot, the pigeon-head. Go, children! I wish to speak with your father alone."

Zia allowed her siblings to leave; but she listened behind the door.

"Aisha, what is the matter?" Abdul demanded.

"I had one of my...my feelings, should I say," Aisha admitted. "Abdul, you know I'm not a diviner, but I-I still have these psychic feelings, and-"

"Darling, calm down," said Abdul. "You know, your psychological senses are not always correct.

Zia was shocked to see a tear sliding down her mother's cheek. "Abdul, please, listen to me. Get rid of that. That statue. Get rid of it."

"No," said Abdul. Aisha's face hardened. "I am sorry, Aisha, but this box-I feel there's something special about it."

"And I feel there's something dangerous about it," Aisha muttered. "Your stubbornness will be the death of you."

* * *

**REVIEW! **

**Pretty please with salab on top?**

**By the way, do you guys ever get the feeling that Zia is an only child? I do. But I decided she should have siblings. I'm going to write a sequel when I'm done with this story-a sequel about her siblings. And about Zia's mother, because you will notice some strange things about her, such as her psychological powers. And what if her brother survived? You know, stuff like that.**

**-AzureOtter**

**Oh, and this is the question of the day: What is your favorite thing to do to annoy someone? Like a sibling, or a friend, or a cousin? (Weird, random question, I know.)**


	4. Gifts and Destruction

**Yay! A quick update! AND it's a long and exciting chapter! Thanks for all the great reviews!**

**I don't own TKC. **

* * *

He_ doesn't wait for my answer. He removes the cap, and the bottle hisses at us like an angry snake. I shy away from it until it has finished it's hissing. Then I take the bottle from him and bring it to my mouth. Little bubbles-so tiny they cannot be seen-sneak out from the bottle and tickle my nose. I think I will sneeze, but nothing happens. I take a sip. It is true! A dozen tiny fireworks go off on my tongue. I cannot help but smile._

_The street boy is smiling, too.  
_

_Then Shilpa calls out to him. "Get in here, you lazy boy," she cries._

_He turns to go. "I can bring you other things, you know, whatever you like," he says. "I know everyone in this town."_

_I have no need for other things, I want to tell him. This small gift is more than enough._

-Patricia Mcmormick, _Sold_

* * *

Abdul grinned broadly as he watched his family gather around him after supper.

"Well, Papa, did you bring us presents?" Zia asked. Twice a year Papa would go on an excursion-he would not only spend money buying the useful tools, such as shoes and new farming supplies, but also treats for his children.

"Patience, Zia. Patience is the key to life."

Zia wondered how that could be. Mama had always told her love was the key to life.

"For Atiya," said Abdul, "I have brought a bottle of scented soap."

"Oh, thank you!" the fifteen-year-old cried, rejoicing over the scent of flowers and mystery in that small glass bottle.

Abdul smiled and reached into his bag again. "For Aali, I have a bottle of coca-cola."

Aali gaped at his favorite treat that he had not tasted in a long, long time.

"Let me try it!" Zia cried. "I've never tasted coca-cola before. Oh, please let me have a sip!"

Aali grinned and handed his sister the bottle. Zia slowly unscrewed the cap and raised the bottle to her lips. Her mouth suddenly felt like it was on fire. But it was not fire like spice-it was fire like a cold soup that still retained all it's bubbles of when it was hot. These bubbles exploded in her mouth before sliding down her throat like a syrupy slide. "I love it!"

Abdul smiled. "I'm glad."

Aali, the kind person that he was, passed the bottle around so everyone could have a sip.

Abdul resumed his gift-giving. "Now, for Basir, I have a special gift. Chocolate."

The two-year-old took the chocolate bar. Atiya helped him unwrap it. He took a bite, and his eyes widened. "Good!" he said. "Good!"

They all burst out laughing.

"I bought the rest of you a small piece of chocolate," said Abdul. "In America, they call it a Hershey's Kiss."

"Why a kiss, Papa?" Zia wondered as she took the piece of candy in her hand.

"Because it makes your mouth feel good," Atiya teased as she plopped one in her mouth. "Like a kiss."

"And for my wife, Aisha, I have this," continued Abdul. He handed her a package.

"Oh, do open it, Mama!" Atiya said.

Aisha smiled and opened the package for her childrens' sake, though she still had a worried look in her eyes and she kept glancing towards the box Abdul had brought home from his excavations. With a sigh, she opened the package. She took out some expensive-looking, beautiful fabric. It was different colors-red, gold, purple-but they were all subtle and modest. "Oh, Abdul, it's beautiful," she breathed, momentarily forgetting about the cursed artifact. "I can make Atiya and Zia beautiful dresses with this."

"You can make them for yourself, too," her husband pointed out. "I bought it for you, after all."

Aisha blushed. "Don't be silly, I'm too old to wear these things."

"No you're not!" Atiya chided. "Come, Mama. Live a little."

They all laughed. Abdul reached into his bag of gifts. "And, finally, I have something for my Zia, the birthday girl."

_"Tomorrow _the birthday girl," Zia corrected, giggling.

"Of course. Well, for you, I have this." And he held up a beautiful doll.

She had coppery skin, like Zia, long black hair tied back in a braid, and the most gorgeous brown eyes.

"I love her," Zia breathed, unable to believe her eyes. "Papa, I-thank you. She's wonderful."

Abdul beamed at his favorite child. "I'm glad, Zia. What will you name her?"

"I don't know."

"What about an ancient Egyptian goddess?" Aisha suggested.

Zia frowned. "Like who?" Her mother loved to tell her stories of the Egyptian gods, but Zia never remembered any of them.

"What about Nepthys, the goddess of the river. She reminds me of you."

Zia smiled. "Nepthys it is."

Abdul clapped his hands together. 'Now, I'll reveal the statue."

* * *

The face of that statue, of that_ monster_, would linger in Zia's mind for years to come. It was red, and had the scariest grin on it's snake-like face, as if it had captured it's prey. Zia didn't admit it, but she was scared of it. Her younger brother was, too. Aisha had to run out of the room. She claimed it had great, evil powers. Abdul said that was nonsense.

Zia lay awake for hours that night, tossing and turning, that face still clear in her mind. Finally, her older sister turned over on her side and said, "Zia, you're stealing the blanket from me."

"Sorry," Zia whispered. Atiya mumbled incoherently and went back to sleep, but Zia stayed awake.

Zia didn't know how it happened. All she knew was that suddenly, the house was moving up and down. The few pieces of furniture that they had were flying everywhere, along with schoolwork, clothes, and anything else in the room. She clung tight to Atiya, who tried to soothe her, saying it was a bad storm and it would all be fine. They both knew it would not.

Aisha ran into the bedroom that all the children shared, and grabbed Zia's arm. "Zia, get out of here!" she yelled over the noise. "Take Basir and get out!" She threw the crying baby into Zia's arms.

"But-"

"No time for 'buts'! GO! Atiya, you come with me."

Atiya gave her younger siblings quick pecks on the cheek before following her mother out of the room. Zia followed too, holding Basir in her arms.

"Zia, what are you still doing here?" Aisha cried. "Go!"

Zia was crying by now, her tears mixing with her baby brother's. "Mama, I can't leave you! Where's Papa? I can't leave him, either! I can't leave any of you!"

"You _have _to," she said. She hugged her daughter quickly. "Go to the river, and hide in some reeds. Don't get hit by the storm. Hide there. You can't let him find you!"

"Let _who _find me?"

"Don't ask questions! Just _go! _And look after your brother."

Zia hesitated.

_"GO! _I will find you. I promise."

Zia nodded. "Mama?"

"What?"

"I love you."

Her mother looked at her for a moment, then turned away so her daughter would not see her tears.

* * *

Zia ran to the river. She dodged flying furniture and pieces of roof as she ran. Her heart breathed a sigh of relief when she found a small pit by the river, hidden by reeds. It was narrow, and it was hard to fit herself and her brother into it. It was difficult to even get into, what with the size and Basir squirming in her arms. So she set Basir on the ground, thinking that, once she got in, she would pull him down with her.

Her first big mistake.

A strong gust of wind blew the baby away. He fell into the river.

"No!" Zia cried. "Please-please! I promised Mama-"

She did not have time to even think about saving him. A plank of wood from somebody's roof smashed into her. Stars dangled before her eyes, and she fainted.

* * *

**Dun dun dun...So what did you think? Reviews mean a lot. **

**Today's question is: What is your favorite musical? (Mine is "Les Miserables", though "Phantom of the Opera" and "Oliver!" are close seconds.) **

**-AzureOtter**


	5. My Dear Readers--AN

**IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE**

**My dear readers,**

**I am terribly sorry I don't update frequently. I am overwhelmed. Homeschooling during the summer, stressed parents, family business troubles, moving, a sick pet, a terribly sick dad who is in danger of becoming disabled, an annoying sister, several book clubs at once, music lessons, plays I'm trying to get a part in, cousins visiting, all my writing projects, etc. But I am continuing this story, so have no fear! However, I think I need to spend a bit more time with another fandom of mine-Les Miserables. I have so many stories going at once, that I think I need to focus on one fandom at a time. So for the next two or three months, you will be seeing very little of this story. But please don't give up on me! I guarantee this silence will not last forever-I simply want to finish some of my other fanfics before continuing this! I promise that this is for the better. This is one of my favorite stories I've written, but it will not turn out good if I'm stressed and rushing it. Once I'm more relaxed and have more time on my hands and have finished some of my other fanfics, then, dear readers, I will continue this story and not stop till the very end! So, could you please hang in there a couple of months? Feel free to PM me if you have any questions or stuff. Otherwise, see you in a couple months! (Oh, and you all get cookies for being so patient with me! I love you all!) **

**You are the greatest readers a writer could ask for. See you in a few months.**

**Sincerely,**

**AzureOtter**


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